We bought firewood over the weekend.  Scads of firewood.  More than a trunkload.  To be precise, we bought a cubic yard of firewood.  We didn’t think it was that much.  Less than half a cord, however much that is.  But then the nursery guys brought over a bobcat-load of wood. This kind of bobcat:

Not this kind:

But can you imagine a trunkload of baby bobcats?  Just this one makes my heart hurt.  I want to take one home.

I still don’t know how much a cubic yard of firewood is because I don’t think those nursery guys were really measuring.  They brought giant shovels full of firewood over to the car and started loading.  And kept loading.  And loading.  We had to put half the backseat down to hold all of it.  I think we’re set for the winter, even if we have two more giant snowstorms.

We got all the wood home and stacked on the deck.  It looks like even MORE than was in the car.  Maybe it multiplied.  Firewood = rabbits.  Baby firewood = kindling.

It's almost up to my shoulder.

I got a new hat!

I had to go downtown today to teach a training class for the first time in five months (unexpectedly – I’m the LAST backup for that, which means that the other six people were all either sick or still out of town for the holiday, so I found out at 6:15 this morning), and I’m comPLETEly worn out.  I’d forgotten how much that takes out of me.  I love to talk, I’ll never deny that, but talking for eight hours straight while standing up and fielding questions is exhausting. And then I came home and worked, since I didn’t get any of MY work done today.

So.  Short.  Almost done and going to bed (hoping that the guy I was subbing for today feels better when he wakes up in the morning).

I bought a hat!

And then I got a haircut, but I’m not ready to show it yet.  I need to remember how to use a hair dryer first.

Who you gonna call?

John and I are becoming the neighborhood’s animal rescue league.  First, the cat.  Second, Max.

Meet Max

Max was adorable.  I think he’s a Pomeranian, though much bigger than Chanel was (John thinks between 10 and 20 lbs).  Unlike the cat, our dogs got along with him just fine.  (They didn’t try to eat him.)

Hanging out

We saw him sniffing around a couple of the neighbors’ houses, so when we went out to run that morning, we kept an eye out for him.  We spotted him at the bottom of the hill and spent the next 25 minutes or so chasing him EVERYWHERE.  John finally caught him with the help of a friendly woman in a totally different part of the neighborhood, and I met him at home (I couldn’t keep up (I’m SLOW) and lost them when they took a turn towards home while I was still around another corner).  Luckily, Max was wearing a collar with tags, so we left a couple of messages for his owners and got a call back within a couple of hours.  The woman who came to pick him up said they were out looking for him ’cause he runs off all the time.  That’s why they put their phone number on his tag.  A better solution?  Leash your damn dog!  You know he’s a runner, so keep him on a leash!  What is wrong with pet owners in my neighborhood?


I’m not going to talk about Thanksgiving this year.  Just because.  Except to say that I don’t recommend going grocery shopping (for ANYthing) two days before Thanksgiving.  Two nights before Thanksgiving, every grocery store in the country (and certainly the Wegman’s on my way home from work) is a madhouse.  Tons of shoppers clearing the shelves, tons of employees restocking the shelves (thankfully – hee), tons of cars in the parking lot.  And tomorrow, one day before Thanksgiving, will be even worse.  Lesson: whether you’re shopping for the whole Thanksgiving dinner or just getting what you need to get through the week ’cause someone else is cooking, DO THE SHOPPING THE WEEKEND BEFORE.  Plan ahead.  Words to live by.

You’re welcome.

Indecent exposure

Roxy looks naked without her collar on.  It’s kinda weird.  How could a collar be the difference between clothed and naked for a dog?  Not all dogs, either.  Riley doesn’t look naked when we take his collar off.  We took them off about a week ago, when we tried to let them sleep upstairs.  (Collars off = no jingling.  It doesn’t stop middle-of-the-night slurping, though, which is why we kicked them out.)  Since then, every time I look at her, I see a naked dog.  She doesn’t seem to mind.  Maybe she’s an exhibitionist.  Next thing we know, she’ll be out flashing the neighbors.

<Break to ask the dog if she’s going to flash the neighbors.>

She says she will if there’s food involved.

Saturday morning

There’s something about running first thing on a sunny morning that puts me in SUCH a good mood.  I listened to music during my run for the first time in a long time, and even though my legs felt heavy and it was hard to keep going, the sun was shining, I was singing (and gasping) along with my favorite songs, and it was fun.  I got back to the house just when John got back from getting breakfast (bagels, mini muffins, hot chocolate) and plugged my mp3 player into the stereo for Buddy Holly’s “Rave On”.  Good song.  We’ve moved on to Brian Setzer.

Molly is unconscious upstairs.  We’ll get her up soon.

Having nothing to say has never stopped me from saying it. That should be my motto.

I’m back from the future.  An hour from now.  Not that interesting.  There are times being an hour ahead of everyone could be useful, but for everyday things, there’s not much point.

We tried putting Roxy in the cone of shame or despair or whatever the hell it’s called (I don’t have a 5-year-old, Mom.  I’ve only seen Up once.) last night, but we didn’t last more than 30 minutes.  Possibly not even that long.  She was SO pathetic.  And clutzy.  Totally freaked out, but in a quiet way.  A very tense, quiet way.  I couldn’t take it.  The sock method is working – why change now?

Enough about the dog.  Until tomorrow, when I’ll have more to say about the dog.

Dog.  Dog dog d-dog dog.

John texted me today to say he was going to be a little late coming home.  I texted him back: “Damn.”  My phone suggested a replacement: “Danny.”  Good replacement.

The tiny straw is making me hate you

It has begun.  I had a consultation with the oral surgeon today, and I have an appointment to be knocked unconscious and have my jaw broken in three weeks.  Okay, they’re not breaking my jaw.  They’re just pulling a tooth.  Still.  It’s going to suck.  This was actually a second consultation for the same thing.  I was there about a year and a half ago, planning the same extraction (which totally sounds like we’re going to get our troops out from behind enemy lines, but behind enemy lines is my #2 molar), and they wanted to know why I’m back now.  What changed?  Insurance.  We didn’t have dental insurance the first time around, then we were unemployed, then we were employed, but too lazy to go to the dentist, and that’s more information than the assistant to the oral surgeon really needs.

Have you tried pretzel m&ms?  They’re really good.

I went to a weird place just now, on one of those thought tangents that’s so convoluted I can’t trace it back, and now I have “paranoia, they destroy ya” looping through my brain.  Not what I want to fall asleep to.

Keeping my dog in dry socks

It’s raining.  Has been all day.  Because some of the people I work with are AWESOME much of the time, I was able to spend the second half of today working from home.  I spent most of yesterday at home, too, trying to work while keeping Roxy from treating her paw like a tootsie roll pop.  Barely successful.  Because of socks.  My socks.  Which I donated to the not-grateful dog.  Not-grateful possibly because I have to wrap packing tape around the sock to hold it on.  At least I trade dirty socks for clean ones and wet socks for dry ones.  I’m not a jerk.  She could be wearing a lampshade instead.

She does not appreciate the things I do for her.  She also won’t pose for good pictures.  (The foot is getting much better.  She just won’t leave it alone!)

Uninterrupted prosperity

This is the Cadillac of baby carriages.  I was totally jealous of the baby boy who was riding in it.  I could have taken a better picture (one that included the adorable little boy), but the nanny (I think she was the nanny.  She gave off more of a nanny vibe than a mommy vibe.) wasn’t too keen on that.  Understandably.  After all, I am a total stranger who walked up and asked to take a picture of her stroller.  Sans baby.

Let’s go in a completely different direction: tarp surfing.

Thanks, Ms. Nall (we’re pretty formal in these parts), for the video and for pointing me here.  I haven’t read The Onion in a couple of years.  I forgot about it.  And now I’m a little sad.

Something exciting needs to happen to me tomorrow

This tree is right outside the main door to my office building.  The light yesterday morning was perfect, so clear.  I’d like to have a grove of these trees in my yard (near my yard, accessible from my yard – with a clearing.  And a brook!) someday.  My yard that’s out in the country somewhere.  I just haven’t found it yet.  It would help if I started looking.  That’s true of a lot of things.

I’m in a rambling mood without much to ramble about, so before I bore everyone to tears (Too late, you say?  I’ll send you some kleenex.), I’m going to stop.  Here.  No, here.  Right now.

I will conquer this hill. Someday.

I was totally impressed by a runner this morning.  There’s this huge hill a little over a mile from our house, and I usually hit it at the end of my third mile on a four mile walk/jog.  I’ve jogged up this hill no more than…maybe six times in over two years.  It’s steep and long (about .2 miles) and difficult.  So I’m usually walking.  Like I was this morning.  A guy came towards me, down the hill, in a casual jog, slow pace.  I thought to myself (like I always do when I see someone jogging DOWN this giant hill), “Sure, it looks easy when you’re going downhill.  When I get around the corner, I’ll be jogging downhill, too.  Try jogging UP!”  (I’m not always that mean, and I’m aware that they must have gotten to the top of the hill somehow, and yeah, they might have jogged up, which is more than I’m doing, but STILL.  That’s not when I see them and that’s not the frame of mind I’m usually in when I’m trudging up my local Mount Everest.)  Anyway, this guy passed me on his way down, and I continued my trudge to the moon.  Less than a minute later, I heard pounding footsteps behind me.  Dude came booking past me at light speed on his way BACK UP THE HILL.  His legs were moving so fast.  It looked like his body was sitting on top of a wheel, like in a cartoon.

He was wearing blue, too. Maybe he WAS the Road Runner!

So he went blowing by me, got to the top of the Himalayas, and came sauntering back down.  I made it to the top about when he got to the bottom again, so I stopped to watch him come back up.  Totally impressive.

Damn kids today

I’m enjoying running this week.  Because of the time change, the sun rises earlier, which means I don’t have to run in the dark.  I don’t like running in the dark.  I don’t have any reflective thingys on my clothes (but I’m pretty sure my shoes have reflective strips), and when it’s seriously dark, I run with a flashlight.  Which I’m not particularly crazy about.  But at least I can be seen, which is more than I can say for the kid I nearly ran over on my way home tonight.  Not even 6pm, and it’s pitch black outside.  I was in my neighborhood, driving perhaps a tad faster than I should have been, and as I came up to the cross street right before mine, I saw a flicker of movement go whizzing by in front of me, from left to right.  I got a better look when he got under the streetlight on the other side of the street, and I saw some kid flying down the hill, crouched down on a skateboard, wearing dark clothes.  I was hardly the only car on the road.  After he crossed in front of me, he was nearly hit by somebody backing out of their driveway.  Maybe he gets a thrill out of near death experiences.  I just think he’s crazy.  And I’ll stop speeding in my neighborhood.  I’d feel pretty guilty if I hit someone, and Mom says I’m not allowed to feel guilty anymore.

Oh noes, I almost forgot.  Again.  I forgot last year.  Happy Blogiversary to me!  Two years ago today, I started this blog.  Yay me.

Update: Hell.  It was yesterday.  I missed it again.

I’m ‘Enery the eighth I am

Jess and I discovered today that we couldn’t name all six of Henry VIII’s wives.  At least we knew there were six.  We got four of them.  Three and a half, really; we had the wrong Jane.  THREE Catherines, two Annes, and a Jane.  I think I’ve got it now.  A book of paper dolls set us straight, and I can’t decide if that’s funny or embarrassing.

Puppies are not always the point

A threat on the wall in the dentist’s waiting room:

All unattended children will be given espresso and a free puppy.

I wonder how many children beg their parents to be left alone there. Maybe not that many.  It is the dentist’s office.  Although a puppy would be a powerful motivator to behave during your cleaning.  It might also be a powerful motivator to stop brushing your teeth so you HAVE to go to the dentist and get a puppy.

I don’t think they thought this through.  I think I’M reading too much into it.  And I’ve gotten away from the point of the sign.

Still.  PUPPIES.

The end.